


You Are Golden (You Are Pure)

by overratedantihero



Category: Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Age Inappropriate Relationship, Earth-3 references, Established Relationship, M/M, Manipulative Behavior, Mostly Non-Explicit, Physical Trauma, Possessive Behavior, Some Uncomfortable Initial Sexual Undertones, Violence, kneecapping, lying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 01:27:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15450342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overratedantihero/pseuds/overratedantihero
Summary: Slade stumbles on a Dick Grayson from Earth-3. Despite appearances, Slade finds them to be nothing alike.





	You Are Golden (You Are Pure)

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: Y'all's comments give me life, I appreciate and love them :)

“Oh, Mr. President,” the boy purred. “This is a look.”

Slade blinked. He’d come to Gotham to settle his account with the Penguin, and he’d fancied a tryst with the Kid if the opportunity presented itself. And for a moment, he’d thought that Grayson found him first, in the alley behind the Iceberg Lounge. But while this creature looked like Grayson, it couldn’t possibly be him.

He wore red rather than that bright blue. This Dick also sported a utility belt around his waist and a sheath for his escrima sticks on his thigh. Seemingly innocuous inconsistencies, but the kid’s uniformed waist was smooth, uninterrupted by the toys of his father (Slade would know, he’d laid hands on him on several occasions.) And this boy's demeanor was... unbecoming, crass. Unlike excitable, soft-eyed Dick. 

 Slade sniffed and narrowed his eye. He could smell drying blood, and if he squinted he could see the copper smudges against the depth of the unfamiliar uniform. This was not Nightwing.

“Who are you, boy? Lost?” Slade rumbled, dragging his gaze up and down the rough effigy of Grayson. “The multiverse is big and scary for stray little birds. Where’s your Wayne?”

The boy moved like Grayson. He stretched and preened underneath Slade’s gaze, and then he winked. “I think I’m right where I’m supposed to be,” he cooed. “My Wilson is so drab, where do you get off being exciting?” The boy swung his arms, like Dick did when preparing for a flip in his civvies.

Slade drew his sword. “Wayne, kid. Where is he?”

The boy’s entire demeanor changed. He lips curled down in an almost childish pout. He crossed his arms and glared off to the side of Slade. “Not here. I came on my own, he’s not my handler.”

Oh. So perhaps the boy wasn’t so different from the kid after all.

“Thomas doesn’t own me,” the boy continued, quietly and to himself, his eyebrows furrowing. His hands shook as he ran them through his hair. Slade had seen Dick unstable before, he needed to regain control of the situation. Even his Dick was prone to unpredictable behavior when distressed.

“’Course he doesn’t,” Slade murmured, sheathing his sword again. “What do you call yourself? You know my name, I want to know yours.”

The boy’s gaze slid to meet Slade’s. He lowered his hands, but his shoulders were stiff. “I am-- _was_ Talon.”

Slade frowned to bury his surprise. He’d seen a Talon before. They weren’t so healthy and flush, and they certainly didn’t wear red.

“I take it you’re Slade Wilson, but you’re not the President here,” the boy continued, eyeing Slade’s uniform. “It’s good. You wear a spine well.”

Slade wanted to snort. There couldn’t possibly be an Earth where he lacked a backbone, or an Earth where he’d elect to govern. The pay was shit.

But Slade knew better than to let the boy bait him. And if he was having trouble with Wayne, then he wasn’t so different from Slade’s Grayson after all. The way his body tilted towards Slade and the poorly concealed staring confirmed Slade’s suspicions that the two shared a few choice weaknesses.

“Come with me, boy. You’re going to attract attention out here. I know somewhere safe.”

Talon tilted his head and blinked. “Okay,” the boy murmured slowly. “But you’ll have to carry me. I gutted a man on the way here, and it was _exhausting_.”

Unabashed.

This time Slade did snort, but he obligingly turned and bent, allowing the not-so-strange stranger climb onto his back. “If you make an attempt to hurt or kill me, I will drop you from the highest point in this city and neither God nor man will be able to save you,” Slade warned.

The boy shivered and wiggled against Slade to adjust himself. Slade resisted the urge to drop him. “You got it,” the boy murmured breathily.

 Like that, Slade carried the boy (Talon) to his nearest safehouse. It wasn’t entirely secure, Grayson had a key, but he didn’t want Talon plastered to his body for any longer than necessary, and Grayson would have been in Bludhaven anyway.

As it was shared, it was a touch bigger than Slade’s usual, and it was on a high enough floor that he had to grapple to the window. He crawled in and dumped Talon unceremoniously to the ground before turning around and slamming the window shut.

Immediately, Slade felt a blade press into the back of his neck. Without turning around, Slade sighed. “What’d I tell you, boy?”

“Slade?” a voice whimpered, from much farther behind Slade than where Talon was standing. Slade stiffened. “ _Fuck_ , Slade,” the voice hissed, strained and distant. “Are you that desperate for a Renegade?”

“Renegade,” Talon murmured, right behind Slade’s right ear. Slade grimaced when he felt the flick of a tongue and the press of Talon’s body. “I like that. It’s mine now. _Renegade_.” The blade dug into Slade’s enough to draw blood. Fury licked up Slade’s spine as he picked up on Grayson’s (his Grayson’s) labored breaths in the background. “‘S nice of you to carry me back to him,” the boy continued. “I just hate it when they manage to slip away.”

“Talon?” Slade asked. When Talon dug the knife in deeper, he amended, “Renegade?” It felt dirty on his tongue, giving the mantle he designed especially to Grayson to this deranged knock-off. But the blade eased from his skin, and that’s all Slade needed. “On your Earth, had I ever joined the military?”

The body behind him froze. “No, I don’t think—”

Slade whipped around, faster than Talon could blink, and slammed him into the ground. Slade pressed his forearm into Talon’s throat, leaning in to cut the boy’s air. The boy’s eyes bulged, and he writhed. Slade grit his teeth and forced more pressure, relishing in the way the boy’s eyes rolled.

“Slade!” Dick cried out sharply. Dick.

 _I gutted a man on the way here, and it was_ exhausting, Talon had said. 

Slade released Talon and lurched towards Dick, towards the sound of his voice. He found him, behind the couch, slumped on the floor in civvies and gripping his stomach. Blood dripped from between his fingers and soaked his pale blue v-neck. Slade knelt to cup the back of Dick’s head. Dick blinked up at him, weary but alert. In the background, Talon gasped and coughed.

“He stabbed you,” Slade ground out.

“’M fine,” Dick murmured so softly that it slipped out like a sigh. “He just. He looks like me. Like Jason. Wanted to help.”

“I don’t need it!” Talon rasped, rounding the corner of the couch. He loosely shielded his neck with a hand and glared at Slade with a bare face, mouth curled into a snarl. “I don’t need help, I don’t need help!”

He bent his knees as if to lunge, so Slade pulled a handgun from his thigh sheath and trained it between the boy’s eyes while still crouching over Dick. “Take a step,” Slade growled. Talon froze, glancing between Slade’s face and the barrel of the gun. Dick placed his clean hand on Slade’s bicep. Slade refused to look away from Talon, but he could imagine Dick’s hair settling into his eyes as he shook his head.

“Don’t,” Dick whispered. After a breath, he laughed (shakily, hollowly.) “Thought… for a moment… you were with him and I just—I thought.” Dick’s hand slid down, dropping to the floor with a thud.

Slade curled his lips at Talon. “Move, and I’ll crush your trachea with your own escrima sticks.”

Talon frowned, drawing a hand to his sticks. Slade lowered the gun to the floor and turned his attention to Dick, whose eyes had fluttered close, long lashes practically resting on his cheekbones.

With a practiced, if rusty, hand, he laid Dick out on the floor, drew his arms away, and tore away Dick’s shirt. He shredded the fabric into strips, some of which he used to clean up the wound site. The rest he pressed against Dick’s stomach to stem the blood flow.

“Call Wintergreen,” Slade barked out loud. Talon settled on the floor and crossed his legs. He watched Slade with a cocked head and did not start when a device from across the room glowed blue. The sound of a ringing telephone filled the silence, until a voice picked up.

“Slade,” the voice greeted, cautiously. “This is not your usual line.”

“Wintergreen, I’m in Gotham Charlie. I need medical assistance, stitches, human. I also need restraints, human.”

“Pressure on the wounds, Slade. I’ll arrive momentarily.”

The line cut and for several long minutes, Slade hovered over Dick while Talon perched unerringly still.

Slade broke the silence to murmur, “You recognize the restraints are for the kid’s sake. As soon as he’s stable and I have you alone, I will kill you.”

Talon had the audacity to look scandalized. “He told you not to!” Talon protested, pointing at Dick accusingly. “He said ‘don’t!’”

Slade glanced down at Dick, brushed his sweat heavy bangs from his eyes. Talon, like his counterpart, didn’t know when to shut up.

“Besides, you brought me here. You took me. You wouldn’t have done that just to kill me. I know you, Slade Wilson. You’re weak, pliant. You wouldn’t touch me, you can’t,” Talon taunted, scrambling to his feet. Slade brushed a thumb across Dick’s cheek. “I look like him, you wouldn’t be able to do it. You’d choke, you’d—”

Faster than Talon could process, Slade picked up his gun, aimed it, and shot with an ear shattering _BANG_. Talon blinked, realization slow. But when sensation caught up to him, he crumbled to the ground and howled, body seizing.

The noise stirred Dick. He furrowed his brows and looked up at Slade. His lips curled up gently.

“Slade,” he murmured. Talon’s howling registered, and Dick frowned. “Slade?”

“Shh,” Slade cooed, maintaining pressure with one hand and cupping Dick’s face with the other. “Shh, Wintergreen will be here soon. Rest, you’ve been hurt.”

Talon’s howls died down into sobs. Dick’s brows furrowed as he attempted to process what he could hear through the pain and blood loss.

“Talon?” Dick whispered, squinting up at Slade.

“He’s okay,” Slade murmured, drawing both hands to Dick’s dampening, makeshift bandage. “I incapacitated him. He lunged for you. I had no choice.”

“Oh,” Dick murmured, brow smoothing over. “Don’ let him hurt any’n’.” Dick’s voice drifted, his eyes closed, and his jaw went slack. Slade glanced over at Talon, whose sobbing had not ceased.

“Show some spine, Talon,” Slade growled.

“ _You- you- you_ ,” Talon sniveled, gasping between words. To Talon’s credit, he didn’t pass out. Not before Wintergreen arrived, to treat Dick’s wound, drain it, and then stitch it up. Once Slade returned from tucking Dick into bed (with an IV for pain and a restful sleep), Wintergreen glanced over at Talon, still splayed out on the floor and shaking.

“And what would you have me do with him? I can’t reconstruct a kneecap, Slade.”

“Leslie Thompkins will probably treat him,” Slade shrugged. “The Bat would try. The leg is gone. If you can save the rest of him, he’ll make for a pretty pet.”

Wintergreen raised his eyebrows. “He’ll never walk again, much less fight.”

Slade glanced over at Talon, who appeared to have gone into shock. His chest heaved with rapid, desperate breaths and his skin was ashen and glistening.

“We’ll find a use for him. Pack him up before the kid wakes up,” Slade turned and set back towards the bedroom.

“As you wish,” Wintergreen murmured. “Will you remain in Gotham?”

Slade paused. Without turning back, he murmured, “Don’t ask questions you know the answer to.”

When Slade arrived in the bedroom, he immediately stripped down to his briefs and gingerly slotted himself behind Dick.

“Talon?” Dick slurred.

“Wintergreen is taking him back home,” Slade murmured into Dick’s hair. “He’s in good hands and will be well cared for. Rest.”

Dick smiled dopily. “See? You can be so gentle. The others don’t see it, but I do. They tell me to stay away, that you’ll wreck me. But you never do.”

Slade closed his eyes. “Gold doesn’t tarnish, kid. It’s why I lay my hands on you. Sleep, little bird. You’re safe.”

 

Check out my [Tumblr!](https://overratedantihero.tumblr.com/post/176341370897/you-are-golden-you-are-pure-overratedantihero)

**Author's Note:**

> I love writing Slade's perspective, because I love objectifying Dick Grayson into a caricature of purity and vulnerability.


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